When the Wind Blows From That Direction

One of the problems I’ve got writing these things is that I sometimes forget whether or not I’ve told the story before, so please forgive me if you’ve heard this one before.

During my senior year at Cloverleaf High School, I took several classes simply to fill out the schedule. Among them as “Interior Decorating”. It was, well, interesting.

For the life of me, I can’t remember the teacher’s name. She was young, probably 22 or so.

One Friday evening, my friends Marty, Cheryl, Kent and Chris asked if I wanted to go to a party that night. The Interior Decorating teacher had invited them to meet up with her. Apparently they’d asked if it was okay to bring me along.

We were to meet her at the end of her shift at her second job. She worked as a waitress at one of the restaurants in Fairlawn, Ohio. From there, we’d go to the party.

Well, it turned out she couldn’t go. She had to work a second shift and she really needed the money. She gave us the location, a room at the local Holiday Inn, and said just to tell them we were her friends and that she’d try to get there later.

We get to the motel, go to the room and find out it’s a party being held by the local Akron branch of the “Devil’s Diciples”. They let us in without any trouble.

Marty, Cheryl, Kent and Chris sort of moved over to a corner and left me to fend for myself. So I wandered into the party and mingled.

I met a guy that told me he was dead and put out a cigarette on his forearm to prove it. When I didn’t freak out about it, we walked over to a black light so I could see the scar tissue on his arm (which explained why he could put cigarettes out on his arm). He went on to explain that when he was born, he’d stop breathing and a death certificate had been issued. Obviously he got over that hurtle.

I met a guy that was a pretty good guitar player, talked to the leader of the chapter, laughed and drank with a few of the “old ladies”.

I had a pretty good time.

The interior decorating teacher never made it, or at least not soon enough, because at one point Marty or Kent came up to and told me they wanted to leave.

As we went to leave, the leader and a couple of his lieutenants stepped in front the door, blocking us.

“You can’t leave. If you want to leave, the chicks need to kiss each of the guys and the guys need to kiss my old lady.”

I didn’t have any trouble with that. I’d been talking, drinking and smoking with her anyway.

Once that ritual was done and we were leaving, as the last one out, I got stopped at the door.

“Hey, the party’s is going on until Sunday night. Come on back, but don’t bring them with you.”

That next Monday afternoon, I sit down in English class. The teacher, Mr. Murphy, looks over at me and says, “So, Mr. Balog, I understand you went to quite a party this weekend.” I looked up and said, “It was about normal.” He looked a bit shocked and then asked Cheryl to give her account.

Her’s was a much more colorful story. Apparently I had been a bit distracted with my own activities and had missed some antics.

My description of the party as “about normal” only added to my odd reputation.

1 Comment

I was in that interior decorating class too. Nope, don’t remember a thing that I “learned” in there. Or in high school either. Lovejoy and I made an awesome red, white, and blue living room for a project.